


Family Is All We Have In The End

by iamjacksblindrage



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood, Drug Use, Family Fluff, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamjacksblindrage/pseuds/iamjacksblindrage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look into Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"We have what you might call a 'difficult relationship.'"

Even as he speaks the words, Mycroft knows that it is the biggest understatement of the millennium. Their relationship is nearly unhealthy. It goes beyond normal sibling banter and into scathing remarks. Sherlock resents Mycroft’s entire existence, despite being almost completely raised by his elder brother.

And Mycroft isn’t entirely sure when this utter resentment started. At some point, Sherlock had indeed adored Mycroft.

\---

"Mycroft! Mycroft!"

Mycroft looked up from his book to watch a four year old Sherlock bound across the library toward him, several sheets of paper clenched in his small, chubby hands. His dark hair stood on end and Mycroft attempted to smooth it down when Sherlock climbed up onto his lap. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed and Mycroft smiled before ruffling his hair.

"What have you got there, brother?"

Sherlock pushed the slightly crinkled pages into Mycroft’s hands and looked up at his brother with wide, hopeful eyes. Mycroft smoothed out the more rumpled pages, looking them over. They all seemed to consist of doodles and scribbled notes of Sherlock’s deductions of the manors staff in purple crayon. Mycroft smiled and bent to place a kiss on the top of the little boys head.

"These are wonderful, Sherlock."

Sherlock grinned, a huge, crooked grin that lit up his entire face and he hopped off Mycroft’s lap and ran off. Mycroft chuckled at the boy and turned back to his book.


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock forces as much venom into his voice as he can possible manage with a gun pressed against his head.

"Sherlock, please. Let me in. I can help you." Mycroft’s voice is muffled by the door, but there’s the obvious sound of impending tears in his speech.

"Why would you help? I thought caring wasn’t an advantage?!" Sherlock screeches at his older brother, pressing the muzzle of the gun harder against his temple. "And you won’t do anything that’s not to your advantage!"

Mycroft sighs and lets his head fall against the door with a soft thump.

"Sherlock, is this about me moving out? Because you know I'll be home as often as I can and you can always come visit me."

"You’re abandoning me, just like Father did..."

"Sherlock, please. Just open the door."

There’s a tense, silent moment before Mycroft hears the lock click. He eases the door open and lowers himself down in front of his brother on the floor. He keeps his movements slow and deliberate so he doesn’t startle the teenager.

"Sherlock. You’re 16. You have a long life ahead of you. You’re going to University in the fall. You’re going to do great things. Don’t throw that away. I promise I'll come see you as often as I can and you can stay with me this summer if Mummy allows it. Please. Give me the gun."

Sherlock’s tight grip on the gun loosens and he starts to drop his hand. Mycroft reaches forward, eases the gun from his fingers, flick on the safety, and sets it out of Sherlock’s reach. Then he pulls his baby brother into his arms and holds the boy while he sobs.


	3. Chapter 3

When Sherlock was 6, he deduced that his father had been having an affair. His mother had locked herself away in her study and his father had given him a rather extensive beating before packing his things and leaving. None of the three other Holmes ever heard from him again.

That night, 13 year old Mycroft Holmes was left to clean up the mess his father had made.

Mycroft had scooped up his baby brother from the dining room floor and carried the small boy into the closest bathroom. He sat him down on the closed toilet and set about cleaning the little boys open wounds and determining if there was any internal damage. Sherlock hadn’t stopped crying until Mycroft had given him a dose and a half of children’s strength paracetamol after figuring out that most of the damage his father had done was external and superficial.

He was reluctant to leave his brother on his own to sleep, so he took the drowsy boy to his own room and tucked him into the large four poster bed that Mycroft had in his room. Sherlock fell asleep almost immediately, but Mycroft couldn’t sleep, not yet. It was still fairly early and he was too wound up to think about sleep. So he sat in the chair in the corner, reading until the wee hours of the morning.

He woke up that morning, still in his chair, with Sherlock tugging on his shirt sleeve.

"Mycroft? Mycroft, I’m hungry."

Mycroft glanced at his watch, shocked to find it was nearly 10 in the morning and got up and lead Sherlock down to the kitchen to make breakfast for the boy.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock is 22 the first time he overdoses on cocaine. Mycroft finds him sprawled out on the sitting room floor of his flat du jour, unconscious. His hair is dirty and long, falling on the floor around his head in lank curls. His shirt is wrinkled and messily buttoned and the sleeves are rolled up and the inside of his left elbow is one huge bruise. Mycroft sighs, checks his pulse and airways, rolls him on his side, and calls an ambulance.

Its 24 hours before Sherlock regains consciousness. When he does wake, Mycroft is sitting by his bedside. Sherlock glares up at his older brother, making his displeasure known.

"Honestly, Sherlock. I thought you were smarter than that."

Sherlock scowls and crosses his arms over his chest.

"I knew perfectly well what I was doing, Mycroft," he spits, pure hatred in his voice.

"You damn near killed yourself! I’m not always going to save your stupid arse, you know!"

"I don't need you to save me! I don't want you to save me!" Sherlock shouts, fire in his eyes. "I just want out!"

Mycroft’s face falls slack and he stands, turning toward the door. At the last second, he looks over his shoulder at his brother.

"I’ve already spoken with your doctor. You'll go straight into rehab from here, and you'll stay there until you're capable of staying clean. Please stick with this better than you did Uni."

And with that, Mycroft walks out the door and Sherlock doesn’t see him again, not face to face, for near on three years.


	5. Chapter 5

When Sherlock was a boy, he was energetic and expressive and actually quite happy. Mycroft loved his baby brother quite dearly and Sherlock adore his big brother.

When Sherlock was 16, Mycroft moved into a flat in the city to be closer to his work. Sherlock didn’t see him for more than a few minutes in passing for 3 years.

By the time Sherlock was 19, he had left the manor to attend Uni, but had subsequently left Uni after a year and a half and had moved into a small, dingy flat in the city. His drug habit is in full swing before he's 20. This is when Mycroft finally makes an effort to be in Sherlock’s life again.

He gets the address for Sherlock’s flat from his assistant and drives over one evening to see what his brothers getting into. The flat reeks of smoke and a cocktail of chemicals. Sherlock’s laid out on the couch, hands folded under his chin, eyes closed. Mycroft nudges his brother’s shoulder, startling the young man. His eyes fly open, wild, bloodshot and out of focus.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock’s voice is wobbly and hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in days. Mycroft sits down on the edge of the couch and pushes the dirty, greasy curls away from his brother’s sickly pale face.

"What have you done now, brother?" He sighs, frowning down at the boy. Sherlock sits up and rests his forehead against Mycroft’s shoulder.

"Why won’t it stop? It feels like brain is overloading and I can't stop it. What's wrong with me, Mycroft?"

"You’re a Holmes. It’s who you are."

Mycroft wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders as they began to shudder and jerk with his quiet sobs. In that moment, holding his strung out little brother while he sobbed in that filthy flat, Mycroft knew he'd failed Sherlock. It had been his responsibility to raise Sherlock up right, and he’d failed. He just sighed heavily and pulled his baby brother closer.


	6. Chapter 6

From the time their father left until just before Sherlock’s 8th birthday, the young boy had been plagued by terrible nightmares that had sent him running to the safety of his big brother nearly every night. The nightmares were so regular that the brothers had formed a routine.

Mycroft would put Sherlock to bed around 8 every night before retiring to his own room. He would read most nights until 10, and then he’d put on pajamas and brush his teeth and get in bed. He’d doze lightly until around 11:30 when Sherlock would crawl into his bed, waking him up. The little boy would curl up next to Mycroft and Mycroft would throw an arm around him and the pair would fall back asleep.

Over time, the nightmares started to come less frequently until Sherlock slept through the night every night. After thing went back to normal, Mycroft found it increasingly difficult to fall asleep without a warm body next to him. The 15 year old would lay awake night after night, staring at the ceiling, unable to catch up with the relief of sleep.

Young Sherlock found sleep eluding him as well during this time period as well. He’d toss and turn, tangled in a pile of blankets, always too cold and too lonely to fall asleep. 

Shortly before Mycroft’s 16th birthday, in the spring before the older boy would leave for University, Mycroft was surprised by Sherlock climbing into his bed one night. He rolled over and threw an arm around his baby brother, like he always used to.

"Nightmare?" He murmured. Sherlock shook his head as he burrowed in closer to his brothers chest.

"Just can’t sleep."

"Me neither."


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock was 30 when he met John Watson. John Watson terrified Mycroft. This small, unassuming man that his brother had chosen to fall in love with. It had been one of the only times Sherlock had sought out Mycroft since he'd left Sherlock behind.

He'd been at the office when his baby brother had shown up, coat billowing around him. There was an odd tension around his eyes and his fists were clenched at his sides.

"We have a problem, brother." His voice was tight and choked. Mycroft set down his pen and turned his full attention to Sherlock.

"What’s the issue, Sherlock?"

Sherlock stood there, his mouth opening and closing several times while he searched for the words. After a few moments, his fists clenched themselves in his dark hair and he dropped to his knees, pressing his face to the carpet. It was an action Sherlock had not performed in front of Mycroft in 20 years. When the conflict between his feelings and logic became too overwhelming, he'd collapse to the floor and sob.

Mycroft is on his feet and around the desk in a flash. Sherlock is trembling from head to foot, but he’s completely silent.

"Come on, Sherlock. Find your voice. Tell me what happened."

"Johns going to leave," he whines. "I don’t know why I did it, but I did and now Johns going to leave, I just know it."

Mycroft lowers himself to the floor and pulls Sherlock up into his arms. "What did you do, Sherlock?"

"I kissed him," Sherlock moans against Mycroft’s suit coat. "He was being so goddamn brilliant and it just happened, I kissed him and the look he gave me. Oh god. He looked so confused and scared and it was so irrational and I did it Mycroft, I royally fucked this up!"

Mycroft shushed his brother, rubbing soothing circles the other man’s back.

"And let me guess, you ran off before he could say or do anything?"

Sherlock whimpered as Mycroft’s mobile chimed on his desk. He deposited his brother in one of the chairs in front of the desk before picking up his phone. The text message from John was straight forward. 'Is Sherlock with you?' Mycroft sent back a quick text, informing the Doctor of Sherlock’s whereabouts and encouraging him to come.

Mycroft spent the next 15 minutes shushing and soothing his trembling baby brother, until John burst in the door. Sherlock jumped up and starting sputtering, searching for the right words, and John simply grabbed ahold of Sherlock’s face and pulled him in for a kiss. Mycroft turned his back and let the couple have their privacy. Before the two could fly out of the office in the usual whirlwind, Sherlock stopped and placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder and gave him a /look./ And not 5 minutes after they left his office, Mycroft received a text from Sherlock.

'Thank you.'


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning on this one. mild mentions of rape.

Mycroft has only ever resorted to first hand, physical violence once in his life, and it was on Sherlock’s behalf. The boy was barely 15.

Mycroft had just gotten home, with plans to stay the weekend before returning to school until Easter. He could hear a scuffling from upstairs, but the rest of the house was silent, which meant Mummy was deep in the drink again. Mycroft sighed, hoisted his bag up higher on his shoulder, and headed upstairs.

And then the scream shattered the silence.

It was quick, one loud wail of anguish that was hastily muffled. It was a scream Mycroft recognized as Sherlock’s. He dropped his bag and sprinted up the stairs. His long legs propelled him forward fast, but still not fast enough for his likings.

Mycroft shouted for Sherlock once and tried the door to his brother’s room. It was locked, but the adrenalin pushed him forward and he kicked out, planting his foot close to the lock and cracking the door open. Mycroft was not prepared for the sight he met.

Sherlock was on his knees in the center of the bed, his trousers round his ankles. His wrists were bound to the bed post and a piece of fabric was stuffed between his teeth. Tears were streaming down his blotchy, red face steadily. There was another boy, behind him, pinning his legs down, his trousers shoved down his thighs. He was tall, with golden blond hair and wide green eyes. The boy was also bollocks deep in his baby brother.

The boy tugged himself out of Sherlock, causing him to wail again, muffled by the makeshift gag. Mycroft, in a fit of blind rage, grabbed the boy by the back of his collar and threw him off the bed and onto the floor, and pinned him there with his gaze. Then he turned, untied Sherlock and told him to wait in the bathroom. Sherlock nodded weakly, pulling what Mycroft could now tell was a sock from his mouth and crawled off the bed and walked unsteadily to his bathroom.

Mycroft rounded on the other boy once the bathroom door clicked behind Sherlock. He grabbed the boy’s shirt and hauled him up to his feet.

"Now, who the hell are you?!"

"V-V-Victor, sir. Victor Trevor," the boy stammered.

"And, Victor Trevor, what is your justification for RAPING MY BROTHER?!"

The boys eyes widened and he trembled under Mycroft’s gaze. When he didn’t answer, Mycroft gave him a solid smack across the face.

"He’s pretty and I wanted him and he’s a fucking tease! He deserved it, the games he was playing at!"

Mycroft shoved Victor out the bedroom door and down the hall. He backed the boy all the way to the top of the stairs, and then landed a solid uppercut to the teen’s stomach, toppling him and sending him end over end down the stairs. He followed, kicking and shoving Victor in the direction of the front door.

Once more, just after opening the front door, Mycroft gathered Victor up by the front of his shirt and growled lowly in his face.

"If you ever come back here, if I ever see you again, if I ever hear about you bothering my brother, I will obliterate you and your entire family. Got it?"

Victor nodded, terrified, and Mycroft bodily threw him onto the front step and closed and locked the door behind him before jogging back up the stairs to Sherlock.

He finds his brother curled up in the bottom of the tub in Sherlock’s bathroom. He’s stark naked and his ruined clothes are folded up neatly on the lid of the toilet. Mycroft sighs heavily, tears prickling at the back of his throat, and sinks to his knees on the tile. He slumps forward and lets his forehead rest against the cool, white tile and fights down sobs.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock is 25 the first time Mycroft is called in the bail Sherlock out of jail. He’d barely been out of rehab a week and he was already stirring up a ruckus. Though Mycroft had to be grateful that the ruckus didn’t include cocaine in any of its forms.

Mycroft was greeted by a young Constable, 30 years old tops, though the man was already going grey. He keeps eye contact with Mycroft and shakes his hand firm and Mycroft is impressed. There are diplomats and dignitaries that can’t meet his eye let alone shake his hand.

"Are you the arresting officer, then?"

The Constable nodded his head and introduced himself.

"I’m Detective Constable Greg Lestrade. You must be Mr. Holmes' brother, then?"

"Yes. What, may I ask, has my baby brother gotten himself into this time?"

"He crashed our crime scene, sir. Walked right past the tape and started examining the body and trying to tell DI Gregson about how and why the man died. Gregson asked him to leave and when he didn’t, I was told to arrest him. Put up quite a bit of a fight and he's being charged with resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer."

Mycroft sighs and starts filling out the paperwork thrust his way to gain Sherlock’s release. While he’s doing so, he chat amiably with DC Lestrade and learns a fair bit about the young man. He’s married, with a daughter, but the marriage is on the rocks, as his wife regularly cheats on him. He also picks up that the DC is bisexual from his body language, and he’s lonely, from the droop of his lip and the cadence of his voice. He leaves his name and number on a small piece of paper, right on top of Sherlock’s release forms, and heads down the hall to the holding cells. He sees Lestrade tuck the number in his shirt pocket and jog to catch up with Mycroft.

On the drive home, Sherlock is fairly quiet. He doesn’t so much as say a word to Mycroft for a good 25 minutes.

"You gave that Constable your phone number."

"Yes."

"What happened to Anthony?"

Mycroft sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

"Anthony left me for a young MI6 agent while you were in rehab."

Sherlock nods and returns to his silence. He stares out the window, resolutely avoiding Mycroft’s sideways glances. A few moments later, Sherlock speaks again.

"Anthony was a wanker anyways."

Mycroft smiles.


	10. Chapter 10

Mycroft met Anthony during his first year at university. He was 17, and Anthony was 2 years his senior. He was a graphic design major with an attraction to quiet power. Mycroft met him in his Calculus class first semester.

Mycroft arrived at his very first class well dressed and 15 minutes early. He had dug out one of his only short sleeved button downs and tucked it into a pair of dark, tailored jeans. Then he tied a dark navy pinstriped tie around his neck and buttoned a charcoal grey waistcoat over that. The classroom was empty when he entered, so he took a seat in the middle of the front row and took a notebook and a pen from his bag.

The class slowly filled up around him, a diverse group of students, talking quietly or sipping coffees. The room was about half full when Anthony walked in. He was average height, with dark blond hair and a healthy smattering of stubble on his cheeks. He had on a white button down with a subtle blue check, a bright red bow tie at his neck and a pair of dark khaki chinos. A pair of dark, thick rimmed glasses were perched on his thin nose.

Mycroft watches him subtly as he looks for a place to sit. He watches as the man’s gaze lingers over Mycroft momentarily before he moves to sit on Mycroft’s left. He smiled, a toothy grin and offered Mycroft his hand.

"Hullo. 'M Anthony."

Mycroft returned the smiled, and shook his hand.

"Mycroft. It’s a pleasure."

After that, Anthony sat next to Mycroft every day. After 2 weeks, they started meeting in the evenings to work on their calculus. The week after, they start meeting for meals, and just to hang out in their free time.

Six weeks after they met, they start dating steadily. Anthony spends more nights than not squeezed into Mycroft’s single bed. It’s a crowded tangle of limbs in the narrow bed, but they make it work. Mycroft’s roommate is a ghost roommate. He lives close enough that he doesn’t actually live in the dorm. But when he is around, he pokes fun at the couple, so attached at the hip.

At Christmas, Mycroft brings Anthony home to meet the family. His Step-Father, James, is disappointed in him. Not because he has a boyfriend, but because his boyfriend is going into what he sees as a useless profession. Mummy is overjoyed and flutters around the couple endlessly. A ten year old Sherlock sits across the dinner table and glares at the man all night.

Anthony himself seems rather overwhelmed by the manor and its staff and his parents. Mycroft thinks he conducts himself very well over dinner. After, Sherlock is sent to bed while the rest of the family has drinks. Anthony has one, two fingers of brandy, which he sips slowly while he talks to James. Then, everyone else goes to bed for the night, Anthony sharing a bed with Mycroft.

The next day, all morning, Sherlock glares at Anthony, and it makes the young man uncomfortable. Eventually, Anthony leaves, which is when Mycroft rounds on Sherlock.

"What do you think you’re playing at, little brother?"

"He’s going to hurt you. Maybe not right away, but he will. He'll get bored and want some excitement and he'll cheat on you without a second thought. I’m trying to spare you that, brother mine."

Sherlock storms off, slamming his door for effect. Mycroft slumps back against the wall and sighs.


	11. Chapter 11

It takes Mycroft 6 years to get Greg to go on a date with him. It’s after the divorce is finalized, of course, the gentleman Greg is. So on Valentine’s Day, Mycroft takes Greg to a small, cozy Italian restaurant for dinner and drinks. And it’s going rather well, too. Greg is holding Mycroft’s hand on the table and laughing easily and smiling widely. Mycroft’s just building up the nerve to lean over and kiss Greg soundly on the lips when Sherlock and John walk in and Sherlock starts in on the maître d in his impatience. 

A server leads the couple to a table, not far from Greg and Mycroft, and both men groan in disappointment. Before Mycroft can suggest a change in venue, Sherlock’s approaching, a lecherous smile on his face. Johns still sat at their table, face in his hands.

"Brother, dear! And Inspector, how lovely to see you both!"

Greg scowls up at Sherlock.

"Beat it, Sherlock. The grown-ups are having dinner."

Its Sherlock’s turn to scowl now.

"Hostile tonight, aren’t we, Inspector?"

"Seriously Sherlock. You’ve got 10 seconds to go back to your table before I arrest you for harassment."

Sherlock stands, stunned, for just a moment, before huffing and stomping back across the restaurant.

"Let’s get out of here, alright?"

Greg nods readily, and Mycroft waves over their server for the check. He pays and grabs Greg’s hand, leading him out of the restaurant. The pair wander the streets for near on an hour before Greg suggests tea and they stop into the closest cafe. They both squeeze into the same side of a small booth and Mycroft drapes his arm over the back of the bench. They order, and then Greg’s hand finds Mycroft’s knee under the table. Mycroft jolts and turns, finding himself nose to nose with Greg. He smiles and leans in and their lips brush and-

The front door opens and the shop fills with Sherlock’s voice. Mycroft whips around to face his brother. Sherlock’s face is full of a smug smile until Mycroft rises quickly and grabs Sherlock by the collar and drags him out of the cafe. John stands awkwardly by the door, apologizing to Greg for Sherlock.

Outside, Mycroft has Sherlock pinned to the wall by his throat with one hand, the other tangled into the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging hard.

"You’re going to listen to me, and you aren’t going to delete this conversation," Mycroft growls, his face centimeters from Sherlock’s. "You and John are going to leave and you aren’t going to follow Gregory and me around ever again, because if you do, I promise, the consequences will be dire. Understand?" Sherlock whimpers and nods, just the slightest bit, and Mycroft steps back, letting his brother go. Sherlock scampers inside, grabs John by the sleeves and rushes back out and down the street. Mycroft takes a moment to calm down before he heads back inside.

Greg is still sat at their booth when Mycroft comes back inside, with the addition of two steaming cups of tea and a slice of cake in front of him.

"I’m sorry," Mycroft apologizes as he sits down. In lieu of talking, Greg slides the piece of cake over in front of him and kisses his cheek. Then he turns and takes a sip of his tea, settling against Mycroft’s side. Mycroft smiles, tears in his eyes and throws his arm around Greg’s shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, I'm so sorry this took so long. I've been stuck under a combination of homework, practices, work, and writer's block, so nothing of consequence is getting written right now.


End file.
